


unmasking the devil

by daveck



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 07:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daveck/pseuds/daveck
Summary: Stealing the Devil's face does not endear one to the Lord of Darkness. Or his psychiatrist. Probably. [S3. Missing scene. Gen. First Lucifer fic.]





	unmasking the devil

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta’d first attempt wading into Lucifer fic. Please forgive any mistakes. I’ve only recently discovered the delight that is Lucifer and it’s been a long time since I’ve been compelled to write anything. This was more of a writing exercise than anything else, I suppose. That said, I’d love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> This was written after the first episode of season three, before the second aired, but could probably slot between the two quite easily.

Millennia.

 

Almost since the very dawn of humankind – that’s how long he’s been carrying around his scars. How long he’s been wearing them, using them, letting them strike fear into the hearts of his adversaries – and he’d been doing it _proudly_ , thank you very much _._

 

And now they were _gone_.

 

The whole thing was… Unacceptable. Infuriating.

 

“You mean it’s not _you_?” the good doctor asks, snapping him out of his reverie. “That’s not your-” Linda pauses, at a loss for words.

 

“True form?” Lucifer offers with a snort. “No.”

 

The Devil waves his hand, indicating his face. He lets a lascivious grin slide over his lips. “This handsome visage is the default setting. You much prefer it, I’m sure.”

 

Linda adjusts herself on the plush couch with a grimace and promptly waves away his offer to call Benjamin to assist her.

 

He really shouldn’t be here, he knows. He’s invading her home when he really should let her recover in peace, but it’s not like he has anybody else he can turn to. His blinded brother Amenadiel had been delighted, seeing the _theft_ as a sign of _Redemption_ , of all bloody things.

 

And Maze? Well, Maze had been less than pleased, but he’s almost certain her offer to carve him some new scars wouldn’t help the situation any.

 

He’ll need his demon to save her bloodlust for his back, should his blasted feathered appendages grow back _again_.

 

As for his detective? His earlier botched attempt at a reveal had cost him enough of her good will.

 

“So this other face-”

 

“Devil face.”

 

“-Devil face,” Linda corrects, “is, what, exactly? A… celestial prop?”

 

“A prop?” He thinks he may actually be affronted but Linda simply nods.

 

“Does it ‘come with the job’,” she asks, making air quotes with her fingers. “Or can you – I don’t know – make another?”

 

“Can I _make_ another? I have no intention of throwing myself back into a pit of hellfire and surfing my way back out, darling. No, I cannot make another.”

 

The doctor looks confused – a foreign expression on her face – and Lucifer notes the slightly glazed look in her eyes. Ah, yes, the drugs. Top notch, of course, to help speed her recovery.

 

Lucifer sighs. He _really_ should go. He already knows he won’t.

 

“It’s _my_ face.”

 

“You just confirmed that it isn’t.” Linda makes a vague gesture towards him. “This is you.”

 

“Well yes,” he concedes, “of course it is. My Father is far too vain for anything else - we are all, after all, created in his image.”

 

When she still looks confused Lucifer pauses a beat to consider. “Think of it as a reflection,” he continues at last. “A memory. A manifestation of what was before.”

 

“Before what, Lucifer? Before you escaped to L.A?”

 

His eyebrow raises. “No, my dear doctor, before the flesh _healed_.”

 

Linda looks shocked, blinking at him owlishly and Lucifer is mildly concerned he may have broken her again but, after a minute, she asks, “You were - injured? Burned?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How?”

 

Lucifer shrugs in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “Long fall, fire-y pit. It’s all detailed in Dad’s greatest hits album.”  

 

“And you healed?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Yet you carried that reflection around with you?”

 

“Until it was _stolen_ from me.”

 

“Why?”

 

Lucifer lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? What on Earth would Dad want with the Devil’s face?”

 

The doctor tries to interrupt but Lucifer barrels on. “If it even was Him! I’m beginning to think it was this so-called-Sinnerman. But that kind of power? To steal my face? That has to come from something above.”

 

Because nobody below would even _dare_.

 

“No, Lucifer. Tell me,” she says, “why you continued to carry that with you?”

 

Genuine confusion pricks at his mind. Was he unclear? It was _his_.

 

“Is it a tool?” Linda continues, “A weapon? A warning?”

 

“Does it matter _why_?”

 

“It’s obviously something very important to you.”

 

Lucifer nods and, then reluctantly admits, “I suppose it is.”

 

Linda pauses, contemplating. “Burn victims are usually happy to escape their scars,” she says at last, falling back on her human frame of reference.

 

“Stealing my face cannot undo what has been done to me.” He’s growing angry now, finding that thread of injustice and pulling on it until unravels.

 

“You’re upset.”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Wiping away my scars does not leave a blank slate.”

 

And _there_ it is.

 

His Father may be trying to forget, but Lucifer is not willing to forgive.

 

The doctor is silent for a long moment – too long a moment.

 

“No,” Linda agrees at last, eyes dropping to the bandages still adorning her arms. “It doesn’t.”

 

_Shit_.

 

He’s out of his chair and across the room before he realizes he’s even moving because okay, maybe he’s not one to think of others, but he’s been _trying_ lately.

 

“I should go,” Lucifer says, pitching his voice as he tries to make it sound like it’s a revelation and not something he’s known all along. “You need to rest.”

 

“Lucifer-”

 

“I can show myself out, not to worry.” He pauses, halfway out of the door of her study. “I do hope you feel better, dear doctor.”

 

That, at least, isn’t a lie.

 

She’s still protesting as he makes his way down the corridor and out of her apartment but Lucifer doesn’t stop – he’s not willing to reopen the doctor’s freshly closed wounds, it seems.

 

That’s growth, isn’t it?

 

And besides, he muses, he hasn’t time to think about his Father’s rubbish attempt at reconciliation – if that’s what it even _is_. No, the Devil has himself a thief to find.


End file.
